It's been one week since the storm
near New Zealand pounded its fists in the Pacific,
and here, on a Washington coast, the ocean finds
final resolution from the bloodrush.
My eyes tell me I am currently the only one
on this beach to congratulate the ocean.
This is not true, for here, the ocean and I lay
down our guns for an audience of One.
What is it about skin that makes us forget
our first loves?
Jesus, the sand must be your punctuation.
I hear your words in the echo.
So, here, like a sea of turbulence, I crash.
Here, I give you my storms, as my body pulls
back to the landless coasts it still calls home.
